


Hero

by SkyFireForever



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canonical Abuse, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Memory Loss, Multi, Pregnancy, Sibling Incest, Trans Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina, Trans Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-09 03:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyFireForever/pseuds/SkyFireForever
Summary: "Guess i messed upGuess i made a bad callBut i have no ideaWhat i could have done differentOne little choiceOne small actionOne coincidence of thoughtAnd the lights went out"-Hero from Ghost QuartetWhen Pierre takes his punishment of Anatole too far, everyone has to face the consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern au and this chapter deals with references to domestic abuse and features heavy violence.

Natasha Rostova was pregnant. Natasha Rostova was pregnant with Anatole Kuragin’s child. When Anatole had found out, he’d abandoned Natasha immediately, unprepared to care for a child. He’d run from his responsibilities as he always did, fleeing directly into his sister's arms. Helene had been there to cradle him like a child, to assure him that everything would be alright, but she doubted very much that it would be so. It was selfish of Anatole to abandon Natasha and Helene knew it, but she refrained from judging her brother too harshly. He didn’t need her judgement, he got enough of that from everyone else. No, he just needed her gentle touch and soothing words. 

She ran her fingers gently through his soft, blond hair. “Come, Anatole. Hush, Anatole.” She soothed gently, keeping her voice quiet and even. “It’ll be alright.” She assured him. 

“Pregnant!” Anatole howled, sounding very much like a dying animal of some sort. “She’s  _ pregnant!”  _ He kept his head in his sister’s lap, waving his hands about in a dramatic fashion. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t  _ stay!”  _ He declared, as if such a thought was impossible. “I’m a married man.” 

Helene declined to mention that his marriage was why he shouldn’t have been fooling around with Natasha in the first place. To say such a thing would make her a hypocrite, as she was no more loyal in her own marriage than Anatole. “I know. I know, darling.” She said gently, glancing over as Anatole’s phone rang for the fifth time that evening. Pierre was calling him nonstop and Helene could only imagine why. Marya had contacted Pierre about Anatole’s abandonment of the pregnant Natasha and Helene assumed that Pierre wanted justice of some kind. For now, she was content with Anatole refusing to answer his phone and just whining to her about his current predicament. She continued playing with his hair as she heard the front door open. She glanced up, watching her husband enter the room. “Ah, Pierre.” She fought to keep her voice steady and level. “Sweet husband.” She spoke gently, sweetly, as if she could somehow douse the fires of his anger with her voice alone. “You won’t believe what our dear Anatole has been through today.” 

“Be quiet.” Pierre’s voice was dangerous, threatening. It made Helene’s blood run cold. He only used that voice with her when he was about to start a screaming match or begin throwing things at her head. The thought of him doing such a thing when Anatole was present made her feel physically ill. “I will not greet you. Right now, you are more repulsive to me than ever.” He insulted. She should be used to insults by now. She was not. He stalked towards the two of them and Helene struggled to her feet, pulling Anatole up with her. She didn’t want her brother to be anywhere near Pierre when he was like this. “Anatole, come with me. I must speak with you.” He shoved past Helene and she jumped back, too afraid to stand in his way. She looked at Anatole, who gave her one of his charming smiles. He squeezed her hand reassuringly before following after Pierre with his usual jaunty step. She watched as they disappeared into the study. 

Helene swallowed, wracked with nerves. She didn’t want to leave Anatole alone with the brute she called her husband, but she saw little choice in the matter. She was too afraid to intervene. She waited in the living room, staring down at the faded carpet. She hated this house. She hated everything that had to do with this house. It was more of a prison than a home to her, trapping her with a man who did not love her. Oh, Pierre did love her, once, and she loved him, but those times were long since past. Things had turned sour and those times of love and laughter were gone forever. It was her fault, of course. Her fault that Pierre was violent and angry with her, her fault that he no longer loved her. She’d just had to go and change things, had to try and make herself  _ happy _ of all things. 

She jumped when she heard a crash come from the study, followed by shouting. Pierre’s angry shouting. She’d been on the receiving end of it enough to recognize it in an instant. She made out a few words, manly  _ scoundrel.  _ Then she heard a different sound that she couldn’t recognize, followed by screaming. She jumped off of the couch immediately, all of the color draining from her face. There were no words to it, just shrill, high-pitched screaming. Anatole’s screaming. All of her fear of Pierre disappeared as she made her way to the door of the study, yanking it open. 

The first thing she noticed was the strong, metallic smell. It was so strong that it nearly knocked her back. The next thing she noticed was the red. The red that stained Pierre’s desk, Pierre’s hands, Anatole’s hair. Oh, God,  _ Anatole.  _ Anatole was laying against the desk, desperately trying to cover his head as Pierre brought a heavy paperweight down upon it. It took Helene a moment to realize that her own screams had mingled with those of Anatole’s. She lunged forward, using all of her strength to shove Pierre away from her brother.

“Stay away from him!” She shouted, her entire body trembling. For a moment, the rage in Pierre’s eyes did not cease and she thought that he might turn the paperweight against her for daring to interfere. Instead, his eyes widened and he dropped the object, allowing it to fall uselessly to the floor. 

“What have I done?” His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with horror at his own actions. “I didn’t mean to, I-”

She turned away from him, turning her focus to Anatole, who was lying motionless. For a terrifying moment, Helene feared that he was already dead. She gathered him into her arms, not noticing the blood that drenched her skin and her dress. “Anatole. Anatole, hush. You’re alright.” Her hands shook. “You’re alright. I’m here.” She breathed. “Oh, God.” There was so much blood and Anatole didn’t move. Helene never cried. She’d been taught from a young age that crying was weakness, that it was a useless, stupid thing to do. She hadn’t cried in years, didn’t see the point in crying. She cried now. She cried as she held her brother close to her, unable to stop. She distantly heard Pierre calling for an ambulance, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was her brother, her poor brother. “You’re going to be alright, Anatole. You’re going to be fine. I promise.” But it wasn’t a promise she could keep. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a doctor, so don't expect anything to be medically accurate.

Helene paced in the waiting room of the hospital, the sound of her heeled boots as they fell against the tile echoing against the walls. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself and she struggled to take in enough air. Her dress was bloodied and stained, but she didn’t care about any of that, not now. All she cared about was the fate of her brother. Her brother, who had been beaten nearly to death by her husband. Helene’s eyes fell closed as she fought back tears. She wouldn’t cry, she couldn’t cry. Crying was a sign of weakness, an act only performed by fools who couldn’t control their emotions. Helene was not a fool and she would not cry, she refused to. 

Her head snapped up as she heard a doctor enter the room. “Kuragin?” The doctor called out, causing Helene to briskly approach her. 

“I’m Helene Kuragina.” She said. “Is Anatole alright?” Worry was evident in her voice as she showed more emotion and vulnerability than she normally would have dared. These were desperate times and Helene was more concerned than she had ever been. “Will he be okay?”

“What’s your relation to the patient?” The doctor asked, looking over a chart attached to a clipboard. 

“Sister.” Helene said quickly. “I’m his sister.” She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Now please answer me.” She was growing impatient, frustrated. Why couldn’t the damn doctor just tell her how her brother was doing? She was desperate for information, for answers. 

The doctor sighed. “He had to undergo surgery due to the damage. The swelling has gone down, which is always a good sign.” 

“So, he’ll be okay?” Helene asked hopefully. 

“He’ll survive.” The doctor said cautiously. “However, he received extensive trauma to the head and brain.”

Helene took a breath. “What does that mean?” She asked shakily. “What does it mean for him?” 

“It means that he suffered from a traumatic brain injury. It’s always a roll of the dice with this sort of thing, but he’ll likely suffer long-lasting consequences.” 

Helene felt sick to her stomach. “Consequences like what?” 

“Difficulty controlling one’s fine motor skills, fluctuations in mood or behavior, issues with memory, sexual dysfunction, difficulties in other areas of function.” The doctor explained. “It’s unclear exactly what the extent of the damage will be. We’ll have to wait and see the symptoms for ourselves.” She studied Helene’s face. “Be assured that we’re doing all we can for him.” She promised. 

“You better be.” Helene said coldly. “My brother deserves only the best treatment. Is that understood?” 

The doctor nodded. “Yes, maam.” She said quickly. “Of course.” 

“Can I see him?” Helene asked, keeping her back straight and her head held high. 

The doctor nodded. “He’s resting now, but you may.” She led her to Anatole’s hospital room. “Don’t wake him.” She requested. “He needs his rest after what he’s been through.” 

“Of course.” Helene took a seat at Anatole’s bedside. “Do you need to be here or may I have a moment alone with my brother?” She questioned with an edge to her voice suggesting that she’d prefer the doctor to leave. 

“Just call if you need anything.” The doctor told her before exiting the room. 

Helene stared at her unconscious brother, her heart sinking as she gazed at him. His head was wrapped in bandages as he lay propped against the pillows. He appeared so vulnerable, so peaceful, so unlike the brother she knew. His skin was deathly pale and his breathing was slow as his chest rose and fell with each breath. Helene was suddenly struck by how  _ young  _ her brother truly was. He was barely more than a child. How could this have happened to him? He didn’t deserve it. 

She fought back tears as she reached for him, slowly taking his hand in her own. His skin was so cold to the touch. She exhaled shakily, bringing his hand to her lips to press a gentle kiss against it. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t protect you.” She closed her eyes as a few tears trickled down her cheeks. She held tightly to his hand for a long while. She was unsure for exactly how long, but the silence felt like it lasted for ages. 

Slowly, Anatole began to shift, his eyes fluttering open. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat as his eyes scanned the room before settling on Helene. She lifted her head and looked at him, wiping at her eyes. “Anatole.” She breathed. “Hey.” She forced a shaky smile for his sake, not wanting to show him her fear. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“My head hurts.” He whined in that pitiful voice. “Where am I? What’s going on?” 

“Shh. Rest.” Helene reached out to stroke his face. “You’re in the hospital.” She explained. “Do you remember what happened?” 

He thought for a moment, but it looked painful for him. He slowly shook his head. “I...I can’t remember.” He mumbled, trying to sit up. 

“Don’t get up.” She pressed her hands against his chest, keeping him down. “You need to rest.” She stroked his cheek. 

Anatole shook his head. “I hate hospitals.” He murmured, glancing around. “I don’t want to be here.” 

“I know. I know.” Helene soothed. “But you must stay. You’re hurt.” She got out of the chair and sat on the edge of his hospital bed. “Just rest.” 

“What happened?” He questioned, eyes searching his sister’s face for answers. “What happened to me, Stefan?” 

Helene’s heart stopped in her chest and she stared at her brother in shock. She hadn’t heard that name in a long time, years. That name was no longer associated with her. It hadn’t been associated with her for years. She  _ hated  _ that name and Anatole knew it. Why would he call her that? 

“Anatole…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. “That’s not...that isn’t my name.” 

“Huh?” Anatole’s face screwed up in confusion. “Of course it is. You’re Stefan, my brother.” He said it with such confidence. It broke Helene’s heart as she shook her head. 

She swallowed and took a breath. “You need to rest.” She said gently, not knowing how to deal with her brother not remembering her transition. “I’m sure you’ll remember tomorrow.” She smiled shakily. “Just rest, okay?” 

“But-”

“Rest.” She demanded a bit more firmly, giving her brother a stern look. “You’re not well.” She felt her throat closing up. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. How could Anatole not remember? She needed him to remember. He’d probably be better in the morning. He had to be better in the morning. She pressed a kiss to his bandaged head. “Just rest, my love.” She stood to leave, unable to handle being trapped in this room with her brother any longer. She couldn’t handle not being remembered by her own brother. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” She assured him before taking off down the hall. Her heart hammered away in her chest as she returned to the waiting room, collapsing into a chair. She buried her face in her hands, struggling to take in enough air. 

She closed her eyes, not knowing what to do or where to go. She couldn’t stay here, but she couldn’t go back to the house she shared with her husband. She had to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. She shakily took out her phone, dialing a number and bringing her phone to her ear. “Dolokhov? I need your help.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda terrible, but I had fun writing it, so I don't care.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment below if you want me to continue this! Or if you just want to tell me what you think!


End file.
